Spot-on

Spot-on

Oh ladybug, oh ladybug, I like the coat on your back
Black dots over your colour I read before you flew away
Into the centre of something stationary with a comfortable smile
Fly back to the sunflower with the deceptive name
For its nectar will fade from your stomach in a little while
And you’ll turn your antennas to your next sweet conquest
Keep taking what you need to fuel your lust filled feet
Leaving only the husks, a miserable mess, an ignorant head

I thought ladybugs ate away the pests of the heart
I’m often mistaken with my overoptimistic thoughts
Such petty desires when the garden has so much to offer
I wish you’d fly into something that would just stop and stick
And time alone would make you think of what’s really within
Your layovers do take a physical toll as the black spots attest
You’re eating fast-food with no thoughts of what you did
Oh ladybug, oh ladybug, I like your coat and its self-inflicted stains

Mother Nature Doesn’t Abide To Rules Never Written Down

Mother Nature Doesn’t Abide To Rules Never Written Down

I used to get lost among a sea of weeping willows
Hardly afloat, struggling below the waves of self-doubt
Until I was washed ashore in a foreign place bare of regret
Up river from that delta’s gangly grasp and salty weight

A mysterious beauty brushed my hand
So I allowed my thumb to rest over hers
And we just rode atop the water’s swell
Surfing on seconds, our hearts so doused

She flowered my cheeks with gentle endearment
The petals guiding my heart’s progression
As she clad me in something that I never want to shed
Try as I might I still haven’t discovered it yet

I just know that this bud will mature
Nothing about this water pale stunts our growth
Although we’re both parched for a little more
Refreshment comes when the last grain falls

The chipped paint and rust are sanded away
As the leaves of my calendar flutter everyday
The trees’ glares sometimes reflect silly segways
But we giggle and refuse to remain stationary

Mother Nature controls the flow’s direction
We’re exactly where we’re suppose to be
Keep adding question marks to the tails of your thoughts
I hope we both have fruitful futures at the orchard’s gate

Just like grass growing in the sidewalk’s cracks
Some life is just meant to be
We’re claustrophobic beneath this concrete
But one day we’ll grab the Sun’s rays

I don’t need any trail markers
When I get lost in your verdant eyes
Under this canopy of comfort we’ll keep drifting asleep
And continue to float down this river of fallen leaves

A Crow's Song In An Unnatural Smog

A Crow’s Song In An Unnatural Smog

Aesthetics and cream on front covers
Soot on coalminers’ gloves and shovels
Keep on plundering our Mother
Keep on marring each other
Let’s all become the same
No need for movement
Let monotony tame us lame
We’ve written the will of our Elder
Let us decorate our costumes with,
Sapphires of Slander

All I saw were muddled puddles of woe
No sunlight to reflect my fears and knows
Hidden beneath the surface
I thought I’d keep them locked below,
Oh, the concession of the Status Quo...

I was even with the world
No odder than an eloquent crow
We continue to yearn for longer decibels
As our mountain rumbles and moans...

The pragmatic peak of constructive minds
Why shouldn’t we turn sense into dollars?
The court of our soul should not reprieve
For there are no aches that we relieve

Painkillers minus
the agony,
Inducing skeptical
melancholy,
We propagate and mime
The fires of our fathers’ lies
Man’s best intentions swerved left,
A slew of passionate drunks stumbling awry

Forgive me if I refuse to loiter
Through tortured waters I begin to row
I am lost somewhere up river
Zero visibility
Loss of flow,
The fog refuses to dither
How can I move forward?
When I can’t see two feet in front of me
Never mind the shore

the Current, the Willows, and the Tide

the Current, the Willows, and the Tide

A maze X-ing, I see
My provenance mine which I cannot lease
I’m holding the button until it’s no longer green
As I count the seconds until I fall asleep

“N”, “Y”, “Z”
Let them take the place of this last release
Since I lost the tally of my prior stumbles
My mine rumbles as I make an oneiric leap

I’ve searched the shafts for memorable mannequins
Hoping a deluge of manic ire will wash me to the ocean
Oxygen isn’t essential when you’re drowning from within
Perpetual panic breathes are all that remain

When I reach the sunlight I download another reason
Just keep on walking until it darkens in the evening
I must’ve been washed ashore somewhere up River
Now it’s myself that I must deliver

I lave the ash from my indifferent face
Defecate self-loathing doubt which tries to bait
Lying in the Forest, I see the cross linked iron
But the willows grab my attention as they begin to cry

“It’s only a vice that occupies your mine”
“You’ve been short minded by an obsession to dine”
“On something to Tide you over until the next wave”
“It’s much more than water that’s tried to break”

Mental conflict I’ve understood in novels
How did I not hear my mine’s echoing wallows?
I walk over to the surface of the wise and merciful River
Right after I thank the Willows for averting my blunder

I self-reflect like I have so many prior times
Fresh water shines a face wearing a candor smile
Maybe I can’t smooth out what’s been chiseled past
But I can carve deeper meaning into this quarried cast

Crayola Crayons and Hurricanes

Crayola Crayons and Hurricanes

I sit here in the early hours of the morning
Blissful piercing silence rages war on my ears
It’s a battle I’m always willing to wage
Bathing forests with blood rightly paid

Before the sun begins to notice
That a new day has already begun
I embrace a second of nostalgia
As I stare at arriving spectral rungs

Even since the day I began to meander
Towards the horizon in my mind
I never shun the opportunity
To view nature in it’s truest shade and shine

If there’s one thing I’ve learned
Even the brightest colors have hints of grey
Most have more than a couple
Like trying to paint without meeting the lanes

Like a bolt of lightning
Zigzagging from the hand of Zeus
What we see is quarrelsome
Plus a bunch and a little bit more

There is no straight spark
That lights the bulb in our minds
All we have is useless filament
Gentleman Edison was far too kind

All those words I’ve scribbled
In response to cloud-cover deceit
Truth and hate can brew a baneful elixir
Regardless of the end we intend to meet

Just add the right surface temperature
A few words
Wing-clipped birds
Salt
And her delusions
Just insert your own name
And watch her destroy the crew’s unison

How far inland must she go?
Until she realizes how blind she really is
What’s the point in seeing eye to eye?
Maybe my mind's much too weak

Don’t read this the wrong way
I haven’t a single regret
I’m merely admiring a windstorm
And all the lives that she will wreck

Crayola, slow down
You’re way ahead of the times
Most of us haven’t even grasped the basics
Let alone sailed through strokes of caribbean-lime

None of us deserve to see in color
But we’ll rip the wrapper right off the crayon
And continue to scribble ferociously
Until nothing but callous natures remain

We’re merely magpies attracted to another pocket watch
But we haven’t the time to hide the facts
We’re merely lurid moons trying to flaunt our shine
But we haven’t the desire to realign our gaze

This is what comes to mind in the silent morning light
Thoughts of futility in humanity’s might

Green Burkas Start a Sand Storm: Iran’s Divisions and Relationship with the West

This is an article I wrote a while ago. Enjoy. =)

Green Burkas Start a Sand Storm: Iran’s Divisions and Relationship with the West

I’m fairly sure you have read about the events that have recently transpired in Iran. If not I’m positive enough to place a bet on the chance you’ve heard the words “Iran”, “election”, and “riot” uttered in the same sentence. Hopefully I won’t regret betting on this rather than red in roulette.

In order to understand the current situation and to give this election historical context, I’m going to briefly explain how Iran’s current theocratic democracy was created. In 1979, subsequent to the Islamic Revolution’s success in overthrowing the Western backed Shah, a theocratic Iranian republic was formed. Ayatollah Ali Khomenei became the Supreme Leader under the new Iranian constitution. He represented the new order of the velayat-e-faqih, or Islamic jurists, who would now hold the responsibility of “guardianship” over the Iranian people. The West viewed this coup d'état as a mere transition of absolute power. Although there is validity behind that belief, the newly formed theocracy was fervently supported at the dawn of its inception. Khomenei had much stronger backing and civilian consent in Iran than Lenin did in Russia sixty years earlier.

In contrast to previous elections, the difference with this Iranian election is that outcry hasn’t been restricted to thoughts or whispers. Mass protests in the Iranian capital of Tehran and in small pockets throughout the nation are profound reflections of a nation of people, which sees their vote as merely the diesel fuelling the false legitimacy of a corrupt government. This time they refused to let their energy power a repressive vehicle, knowing full well that the election was rigged. Instead they burned their energy fueling discontent and public unrest.

Many independent surveys showed either Mahmoud Ahmadinejad or Mir-Hossein Mousavi winning by a very slight margin. When the results of the election were unveiled on June 13th, the world learned that Ahmadinejad defeated Mousavi 62.63% to 33.75% (according to the Iranian government). So why would the outspoken supporter of Ahmadinejad and Supreme Leader of Iran Aytollah Ali Khomenei rig the final results? It’s simple really. The most obvious answer would be that Khomenei and Ahmadinejad did not want to risk a run-off, which was the expected result of the election. Turning the vote difference into a landslide was an adhesive attempting to cover the cracks in Iranian society. It is impossible to know if Ahmadinejad and Khomeini foresaw the mass protest, but one thing is for sure; the results were tampered with.

Ahmadinejad called Mousavi supporters a “minority of twigs and mote” and compared them to the disgruntled losing end of a football (soccer) match. On the day after the election, a few hundred Ahmadinejad and Mousavi supporters formed ranks outside Ministry of the Interior. They drew their oratory battle lines and began chanting, as the police filled the crevice between them. Then, out of nowhere, the police charged at the Mousavi supporters and began beating them with batons. Who are the football hooligans again?

The Western press might focus on an Iranian “dissent into chaos”, but in reality a huge percentage of Iran supports the outcome of the election, which is blatantly shown by the 20,000 Ahmadinejad supporters, who crammed into Tehran’s Vah Asr Square to celebrate the President’s victory. I don’t mean to say that most of Iran is content with the current government, but it is important to understand that division in Iranian society.

Like is often true with international relations, the United States and the West are not entirely innocent when it comes to Iran. Up until the Iranian Revolution, Britain and the U.S. were receiving huge oil contracts with Iran in exchange for supporting the Shah. From that point on, Iran has had a shaky relationship with the West and rightly so. The only positive outcome of this election is that Khomenei will be a lot more willing to strengthen American-Iranian relations with Ahmadinejad at the helm. President Obama was very careful when he addressed the Iranian people after the elections. He made sure not to provoke Ahmadinejad and Khomenei into a nationalistic defense, which they have used in the past. Britain, on the other hand, hasn’t been as lucky when it comes to Iranian relations. On June 23rd , Iran expelled two British diplomats on the grounds of being involved in “activities inconsistent with their diplomatic status.” Then on June 27th, Iranian officials arrested British embassy staff in Tehran, who were accused of having a “considerable role” in the electoral unrest. It is reasonable to assume that the Iranian government is using these accusations and expulsions in order to counteract the pro-Western sentiment and election protests. The current Iranian regime knows that Iran’s social spectrum is changing and blames the West for what is perceived as negative alternations.

Khomeini described Ahmadinejad’s reelection as a “divine assessment”. The assessment was about as divine as a bouncer rejecting someone who waited hours to enter a club. Mousavi responded by calling the outcome “a dangerous charade”. Thousands upon thousands of Iranians stood against authority in order to protest Mousavi’s well-deserved entry. The question is: where does Iran go from here? Ahmadinejad has made it clear that Iran will no longer tolerate protesters. Iranians have shown their resourcefulness in spreading their opinion and communicating organized protest. Even in the darkness of the post-election telecommunications and Internet blackout, Mousavi supporters battled censorship, organizing marches and rallies by word of mouth. For the first time since the Islamic revolution, people were willing to put their lives on the line to protest a cause they believed would positively alter their nation’s future.

I See Gomorrah's Reflection In Your Eyes

I See Gomorrah’s Reflection In Your Eyes

I’m just a hermit crab
Side stepping on the ocean floor
Dank and dark and deprived
Of anything that can lead to the brighter side

My shell doesn’t protect me from natural foes
It merely shields others from the torture I fail to hide
So they don’t turn to salt
Glaring at my soul waving good-bye

I know a girl who doesn’t look me in the eyes
Where God-given color meets Satan’s sight
I remember when my hair used to veil Black Holes
While the world stereotyped another sad boy

There’s no fire escape for the smoke in my lungs
There’s only a ladder with a few missing rungs
A derelict descent into an alley’s mouth
Littered by trash from that epoch long past

If only my misplaced faith didn’t lead me astray
I might not have a sick lie in my laugh today
If only there was meaning to this machine
We wouldn’t all quote the grease’s sheen
If only there was truly an omniscient call
I probably wouldn’t have crashed at all
If only there wasn’t a flaw in the design
Our pumpkins wouldn’t rot from the inside

“If onlys” are cheaper than manufactured teens
Whose heads pop off with puppeteer ease
Hey!
At least they’re dyed lean
After they careen loose support beams
And tabloids
They fall to their knees
Admiring the fleet’s uniform squeak
We sail into the monotonous shallow sea
Laughing all the way into the bank’s beach
Then we slowly…
Read it and weep

Twinkle, twinkle little star
If only Grandpa Clock didn’t forget it all
This mind of mine can’t control the tides
I’m just too sunken to squeeze Ra’s lime

Miss Admiral Palindroning Palindrome

Miss Admiral Palindroning Palindrome

Palindrome
Cover it up
Pluck it out
Erase every trace of your self doubt
Cyclical
Every dying day
Preening
What would I say?

Palindrome
No progressive direction
Lament
Out of mental detention
I meant
There’s nothing new to discover
Going in circles
We would’ve shattered each other

Palindrome
There’s a piece missing to the puzzle
There always seems to be
You let me take off my muzzle
But still lean against the cage
The key is hinging your mind
And self-reflecting lines
Mirror, mirror on the wall
Who is lying to them all?

Palindrome
Your contrasting fine line
Crossed by a self-convinced mime
Over and over and over
You say you hate what you create
And have done this countless times
There must be a reason why
Accept the tears
Smother the fire
Live in a Black Hole for a little while
Allow the tides to cover your feet
So soothing
Allow the salt to cleanse your doubts
But instead
You retreat from the beach
And never look over your shoulder
You’ve damned the fleet
Is it really too far to call it greed?

Palindroning
A mime’s words make no sounds
Think before you talk out loud
Or I’ll hear the same old
Finger pointing shouts
Ring around the Rosey
Pockets full of poison
Around and around and around
Why did only I fall down?

Palindrome
You’ve been hurt
So it’s okay to shirk?
And take a shiv to my so-called smirk?
I was skeptical for a reason
You don’t know what love really means
It’s not
Comfort
Or future
Or sutures
Go ahead and sleep on your new friend’s shoulder
I’m way better off on my own
Without deceitful weights drowning my bones

Palindrome
You were never a white dove
You’re dyed by soot from the ships you’ve burned
They could’ve been saved
If only you were forthcoming about the intention of the waves

It's Not First Class

It’s Not First Class

My lack of clarity is your dartboard.
Please.
Convince yourself that you’re sure.
Throw a few more.
Your scornful words pierce my cork.
I’ll rip them out from my core
Toss them on the stained floor.
There’s no sense in you getting hurt.
I know when to take what I deserve.
Had to turn my back on a fractured world.
There’s nothing to mend.
There’s just no more words…

These scars on my hope will only strengthen my nerve
G.P.S
On a road that will not curve.
Like a crow, those jewels often had me lured
Amethyst?
Emerald?
Not quite sure.
Those vain instruments are so trite
I’ve never been bound by banal trinkets, right?
Sold me to I
Then was inexplicably confined
Hemp burns my wrists
Can’t obey my mind
So close to completing this Trans-Atlantic voyage of mine.

I’ve mailed my wails to the world.
My fingertips scribble away past woes.
Eyes set on approaching shores.
The X on the captain’s map doesn’t exist.
As elusive as a lingering wisp.
Nothing more calming than a specter’s kiss.

Queen of Conjecture
What do you see?
Like another crowned gambler will understand me.
Playing with dice
Doesn’t matter to me
I’ll try to stride for the sky.
Backspace uncertainties.

Fill what’s empty.

Pastel Serpent

Pastel Serpent

That quartz body.
So carefully chiseled and shined.
White powder chalks your cheeks.
Being impure is not a crime.
An empty house that’s only leased.
Trite gardens are so cheap.
“Blessed are the meek”.
They’ll never find that world they’re looking for.

One quarter.
Five minutes.
Lame serpent.
Content crickets..
Two straws.
One line.
One straw.
Two shakes.
There’s nothing sentimental about a multi-layered face.

Religion might constrict our freedom to express.
But you’ve turned love into a callous excess.
Long deep sigh.
Lust filled eyes.
I can’t say I’m surprised,
that everything once alive,
is now a slithering lie.
It’s everything I despise,
but I’m way too concerned to cry.
Everyone’s become a witless mime.

White sheets over another lame soul.
I didn’t think I believed in hissing ghosts.
Hands move the same way everyday.
Pointing me away from what’s long been maimed.
No.
There’s nothing wrong with biting the apple,
but this is just something I can’t adapt to.

Cursive Review: http://www.noise-cafe.com/

Cursive
May 12, 2009
(Dingwalls, London, UK)
by chase

photo compliment of: http://anikainlondon.wordpress.com

the set list:
Butcher The Song
Dorothy At Forty
I Couldn’t Love You
The Great Decay
Rise Up! Rise Up!
From The Hips
The Game of Who Needs Who the Most
Mama, I’m Swollen
Some Red Handed Slight of Hand
Art Is Hard
What Have I Done?

encores:
The Martyr
Big Bang
A Gentleman Caller

the review:

Oh…Camdentown.  The sun never seems to be shining even when the sky is aqua and cloud deprived, but lack of sun-shone bliss never mars a day spent in Camden.  There is a strange air of mystery and gloom in an atmosphere paved in cobblestone and divided by river locks.  It’s the perfect place to meander around; eat any ethnic food you’re craving, find unique apparel, or pack into 400 person capacity venues.  The perfect place for the perfect show.
 
Dingwalls is the definition of an intimate venue.  Designed almost like a reversed ziggurat, you enter and walk down four levels to the stage.  Usually I find myself thrown into mouth-to-mouth bouts with people trying to get to the stage, but not at Dingwalls.  I watched the two opening bands on the second level and cavalierly walked down to a spot five feet from the stage.  No bruises.
 
OK.  I swear I’m getting to the point.
 
In case you don’t know Cursive, they aren’t a band who can be confined to genre boundaries.  Cursive masterfully harnesses “unconventional” instruments like cello and trumpet, which support characteristic slow paced melodies transitioning into fast paced punk flavored angst. 
 
I was expecting Cursive to play primarily tracks from Mama, I’m Swollen, but only four songs from their new release were played, while two songs from the same album were never performed in conjunction.  Well other than Some Red Handed Slight of Hand and Art Is Hard, which were just as skillfully strung together live as they were on The Ugly Organ.   The clarity and edginess of Tim Kasher’s voice was on oratory display as he flailed around the stage trying to find interesting nooks to present himself from.
 
While Kasher was perched on top of the ten-foot speakers, he preceded to share an insight before What Have I Done?.  As oral history decays from ear to ear, here’s the gist.  “You know we have a theory.  We think Mary and Joseph took a bath together.  See Joseph went in first and jacked off.  Mary went in after and was consummated.  That’s how our beloved Jesus was conceived.  *sign of the cross*”  As giggles erupt, the melodic lava begins to flow once again.
 
 The encore!  Like if the encore was a coffee, it would be three different blends of “fucking delish”.  More please.  The Martyr featured a younger Cursive sound of semi-yelling and well executed tone transitions, while Big Bang utilized trumpet and drums to appropriately mirror the name.  Gentleman Caller, which happens to one of my favorite Cursive tracks, was their final song.  Kasher was amongst the crowd; modeling for the flurry of camera flashes, hanging over a ten-foot railing, and well strengthening my already felt love for every lyric and every string and every beat.  There’s nothing more upsetting than seeing someone from the stage crew unplug the mic.
 
After the show, when asked “how’d you like them?”, I honestly couldn’t respond.  Trust me, I’m usually someone who doesn’t withhold an opinion, but as cliché as it sounds, there were no words to give Cursive justice.  So, I’ll just make up my own word.  Fantasmagasmic. 

Paper Bag and Shattered Glass

Paper Bag and Shattered Glass

Bags under my eyes like midnight’s black shawl
What could I be hiding that’s against the law?
Paper weak confidence in those fluorescent X-ed shirts
The crosswalk has made it no easier to traverse
Still tired of the present’s inherited past curse

The Men without homes are accused of instigating abuse
Just because it’s been years since They’ve bought a new pair of shoes
Shiny new cuff links, insect strewn suits, impressive cover proofs
A well-groomed sheik always prepared to make a move!
Life’s been strangled so long he’s forgot how to breathe
No wonder those Men dig trenches in their feet

A near-pacifist boy, with a jammed automatic rifle
As his binoculars scan the horizon, he forgets about the muzzle
When did the Sun forget to rise he begins to wonder?
When did the Mountains forget a Star’s cuddle?

The Mountain’s become so hollow
we’ve forgotten the sound of It’s beat
The Sun, She mourns the passing of Her Love
As we attempt to bandage our wounded feet

Factory Farming

Just a little something I wrote for my school newspaper....

Compassion Over Killing: Factory Farming Isn’t Cheap

    Instead of trudging through evergreen forests tracking the movement of our next meal, we stroll cavalierly towards the meat counter at our local supermarket, our eyes registering prices of our favorite cuts.  Social revolution; the process of straining possibility’s outer boundaries to the brink of impossibility.  This idea of progress extends its enlightened hand into every aspect of our society, especially our meat industry.  Factory farm oriented corporations, such as Tyson Foods, one of America’s largest meat producers, incur huge profits by decreasing the cost of slaughter.  Yes, meat production has increased and meat prices have plummeted the last few decades.  We economically benefit in the short term, but have you ever stopped and wondered about the environmental and moral implications of an exacerbated meat industry?

    Overproduction and ill-conceived waste management are poisoning our environment.  The Guardian reported that according to experts “producing 1kg of beef results in more CO2 emissions than going for a three-hour drive while leaving all the lights on at home.”  How cheap is cheap meat?

    Nothing relieves the consumer more than a little reassurance. A common response to claims of corporate infidelity is something to the degree of “Those accusations must be propaganda.”  The desire to preserve the comfort of our lifestyle causes us to subconsciously deny a truth, which would add a hint of hassle or strife into our already troubled life. 

    If anyone saw a carton of eggs with an “Animal Care Certified” sticker plastered to the top, one would feel a blip of moral satisfaction and be more inclined to buy the product.  In 2005, United Egg Producers (UEP) was forced to swap their misleading “Animal Care Certified” message to “United Egg Producers Certified.”  Why?  UEP, up to that point seared the beaks of their chickens without anesthetics and forced their chickens to molt.  Molting is a process of starving and overfeeding aged female chickens to force a short increased laying response before they are slaughtered.   Factory farming corporations aren’t just blatantly overexploiting animals, but masking their own immorality with false advertising.  How do you feel about an industry, which uses misleading advertizing to extend their profit margins?

    Look at both sides of the argument and the facts supporting each case.   You have a choice.  A cheaper meal can mean complicity to torture, so make an effort to know where your meat comes from.  Question “guarantee” labels on meat packages. Curiosity and concern should not be withheld. If the stigma of the meat industry is too much for you to bear, take greater strides to choose organic or vegetarian alternatives.  Your food choices may seem like a feudal protest, but just remember the greatest ethic changes in history occurred because people challenged the socially accepted.